A Fool Like Me

Last week I went to my daytime workplace jobtype office and had a visit with the people I like there. Fresco was on his best behavior. He smiled, he giggled, he played nice. He fussed a bit, he slept a bit.

“He’s so easygoing,” said someone.
“Oh yes,” I preened, “you know when Trombone was this age, I had to turn the vacuum on at least once a day to calm him down. But here we are at 4 months old and Fresco is just, you know, sailing through.”

Like that hot dog you ate last week, the one you didn’t think twice about but now you’re wondering – is it the dreaded listeria that is making me so tired? I remembered the above conversation today as we drove home from my parents’ house, Fresco doing a cat-coming-down-from-acid-trip imitation while Trombone tried half-hearted comfort. “HUSS. HUSS. It’s alright Fresco. HUSSSS!!!!!”

Why was he crying? Because he hates the car? (yes) Because he had two naps today, sum total of which = 1.5 hours (yes) and this after a night of 4 wakeups because the poor dear keeps rolling over in his sleep and hasn’t figured out how to roll back yet? (yes!) Because he is teething and wants to eat the buckle on his car seat but instead was rubbing his hand almost raw in an attempt to get it in his mouth or get his mouth on it he doesn’t really care which? (yes, as it turns out).

I got so cocky as to break the first rule of parent club. Hell, the ONLY rule of parent club, as far as I’m concerned. Thou shalt shut your damn mouth about how great your kid is until the kid is in college.

Now we’re screwed. With Trombone, yes, you had to hold him through every nap every day until he was 10 months old. Yes, you had to either nurse or rock and jiggle and shush him to sleep every time, sometimes for an hour or more. Yes, there was that let’s walk around for an hour so you’ll go to sleep in the stroller phase. But at least there was always something that worked. Fresco has been soothing himself to sleep since he was 4 weeks old, which has been great, these 16 weeks. But now that he can’t do it because he keeps. on. rolling, we have nothing else. We have no plan B. He hates the stroller. He hates the car. He (often) won’t be jiggled. If he goes to sleep nursing he’ll be up in 45 minutes with partially digested burp pain (Trombone NEVER BURPED). He’s too strong to swaddle. He mocks the big sleeping bag that kept Trombone pinned for months.

He also doesn’t like it if you hold him down and hiss go to sleep you little monkey’s ass in his ear. FYI.

Screwed, I say.

And all because I let my hubris drive the boat for 10 minutes. Parents, HEED! Obey the club rules or suffer the consequences.